


All Polished Up

by piggybackride (mssileas)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Building Up Trust, Humour, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/pseuds/piggybackride
Summary: "So... why do you do it?" Junkrat asked, peeking over Hog's hand to watch where he carefully used the microscopic brush to paint an even layer of black polish on the first nail.





	All Polished Up

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back already, hello!
> 
> Once again, this was beta'd by the wonderful [wodensskadi](https://wodensskadi.tumblr.com/)! Thanks so much, I have so much fun working with you <3
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I mainly entertained myself with this idea - I hope you'll enjoy it too!

"Oi, that wasn't half bad, mate!" Junkrat cheered, already dragging the heavy duffel bags from the sidecar while Roadhog closed the doors to the garage shut behind them. It hadn't been one of their bigger heists, just a convenience store, but still a good one. There was no reason to attract unnecessary attention when travelling through smaller towns and settlements when you had a much bigger goal in mind.

Junkrat had seen the little red dot on Roadhog's shabby map labelled 'Sydney', right on the coast, and that's where they were going. Sometimes, when the big guy was asleep, Rat unrolled the map and carefully traced the lines on it. Black ones were roads, blue ones were rivers. Used to be rivers, anyway, Hog had explained. Red dots were cities, the brown mass all of this was located on was Australia. And the darker shade of blue surrounding it... well, according to Roadhog, that was the ocean. Rat had no idea where the ocean could possibly end, seeing as it filled out all the space on the map that wasn't Australia.

But Roadhog would show him.

Until then, they tried to fly under the radar.

While he heard Roadhog rattle with the heavy chains to lock up their shack for the night, Junkrat was already dumping their loot on the floor, sorting through it with practiced ease. Food was sorted into two categories: stuff that needed to be eaten quickly before it could spoil, and the canned and vacuum-sealed goods. Pile two - cash from the register and the wallets. A cheap watch went on a third pile - equipment for Rat's bombs. On that third pile he also dumped an armful of cleaning supplies. Not for cleaning anything, of course, but because the chemicals added such a nice touch to his explosives.

Junkrat was already sorting through them, quietly singing to himself without even noticing that he did.

 _"Haaaave you ever been ashamed of your white socks?_  
_Or ashamed your tights aren't bright?!_  
_Then get Oxydol_  
_and you won't get ashamed-to-show-it-whites!"_ he crooned, out of tune as his focus was on his hands and not on his mouth or what came out of it.

 

That wasn't news to Roadhog.  
Junkrat babbled, and he tuned it out. That usually worked out well. If Rat really needed his attention, he made sure he got it - apart from that, he never seemed particularly upset when Roadhog was silently ignoring him and his antics.  
In fact, Roadhog was convinced the blond junker didn't even always listen to himself. Noise just came out of Junkrat as natural as did breathing and during the past couple of weeks they had spent together, Roadhog had become used to it.

Still, as he listened to Junkrat singing the jingle of a laundry detergent - a _laundry detergent_ , of all things - he was convinced the younger man was just fucking with him now. Junkrat was a lot of things, but clean wasn't one of them. Roadhog didn't mind that. In Junkertown you learned quickly to rather drink water than waste it by rubbing it on your skin. Still, the kid really pushed the limit on how long he could go without a scrub-down hard. And even when he finally bathed, Junkrat had the endearing habit of using the washcloth first on his dick, and then on his face. Roadhag had been tempted to point out how stupid that was - but then he had decided he wasn't the kid's mother. If he hadn't figured out the right order by now, what was the point in correcting him.

_"So take off your shoes_  
_and let's see the tights_  
_'cause with Oxydol_  
_you won't get ashamed-to-show-it-whites!"_

They had played that at the store, once. Once! Leave it to Junkrat to catch it like a virus.  
Shaking his head, Roadhog took it upon himself to stash away their food supplies. At the fifth repetition of the Oxydol jingle, he was already gritting his teeth. At the seventh, he snapped.  
"Rat! Shut the fuck up!"

That startled the younger man so much he almost dropped some of the liquids he was inspecting and cursed when he grabbed them just in time, placing them more carefully on his workbench. Hog never knew by which criteria he sorted them or why, and he didn't understand when Rat explained it. So, he just never touched any of them.

"Fuck, mate, you wanna get blown up?! 'cause that's how you get blown up; scare the guy with the 'splosives!" Junkrat complained.

Roadhog just rolled his eyes beneath the mask.

"Then stop _singing_!"

"Wasn't singing!"

"Course you were."

"Nuh-uh, ya think I'd know that, now, wouldn't I?"

"No, you wouldn't, you...!" Whatever else Hog had wanted to say, it disappeared in a heavy sigh. Why the fuck was he wasting his breath on that nutjob? With a snort and a dismissive wave of his big hand, Roadhog turned his back to Junkrat.

The blond junker watched his bodyguard with a frown, but apparently, Hog had decided to return to his usual stoic silence. For a moment, only the crinkling of the food wrappers echoed nerve-wrecking loud through the garage. Mumbling softly to himself, Rat turned his attention back to the rusty old workbench - and felt something clacking inside the pockets of his shorts.

Hah! He had almost forgotten about that!

"Now, Roadie, don't be sulkin' like tha' over there!"

He flashed the big guy an unsettling grin, and all but hopped to where Roadhog had set up some make-shift furniture: Two beds that were actually just blankets, as well as a small table made of some wooden pallets. Three worn plastic crates substituted for chairs - one for Rat, two bound to each other for Hog.

Junkrat considered that a waste of time, really. He could've just slept in a corner on the floor and be fine, but his bodyguard liked to do it his way, even if they most likely wouldn't stay for longer than a couple of days. 

 

"I got somethin' just for you, 'specially just for you!" he announced, flopping down next to the colossus of a man. Even when they were seated he had to look up to face the old, worn leather mask - most people found that intimidating, Junkrat never seemed to care.  
He rummaged inside his pocket for a moment, before triumphantly stretching his hand in front of Hog's face.

The huff he received as a response seemed genuinely surprised, and Junkrat practically beamed at the sound.

On his hand he presented five small bottles of black nail polish.

Contrary to popular belief, Junkrat wasn't completely incapable of watching and reading other people. Roadhog was just a tough nut to crack - the mask made it impossible to read his face, and even the few sentences he occasionally grunted at Junkrat were mostly devoid of emotion. But the skinny junker had noticed his bodyguard's weird habit of painting his nails black. He had done it every night, meticulously. Until his last bottle had finally ran out and Roadhog had disposed of it with an annoyed grunt.  
If running out was an issue for him, it only showed in the way he would pick at the splintering paint instead of freshening it up at night.

Junkrat had noticed that - and he had remembered it, too, when he had seen the bottles on the shelf! 

Of course, an actual Thank You would have been too much to ask. But when Roadhog lifted his mask just over his mouth to eat, Junkrat thought he could see one corner of his mouth twist up. Was hard to tell, Roadhog never liked much light where he was resting.

"Good thinking" the gravelly voice rasped and Junkrat grinned. Throwing away the empty wrapper, Roadhog pulled the mask back once again before reaching for the tiny bottles.

"So... why do you do it?" Junkrat asked, peeking over Hog's hand to watch where he carefully used the microscopic brush to paint an even layer of black polish on the first nail.

"Do what?"

"Paint'em. Does it make you feel pretty?" the younger man guessed, staring up at Roadhog with an inquisitive frown. There was no judgement in his face... he knew some people liked to use all kinds of paints on them, their hair, their face or their nails to feel prettier. He just hadn't taken Roadhog for the type to care about that. Wasn't cheap either, getting your hands on cosmetics in Junkertown. 

For an unnerving amount of time, all Junkrat received for an answer was a silent glare from behind the mask - it lasted so long, he already thought about retreating to safety, because that had obviously been the _wrong_ thing to ask. And then Roadhog _laughed_. It wasn't a nice sound. It seemed to force itself out of the man's lungs, wrapping itself around a cough and a wheeze, but it was definitely a laugh. Junkrat just stared at him, surprised that his bodyguard seemed to find something funny after all, but baffled that this was apparently the funniest thing Junkrat had said to him all along. Because it definitely wasn't. Junkrat considered himself way funnier than that.

Stretching his arm, Roadhog reached for a lamp and pulled it closer, illuminating the space further. Still shaking and laughing with his little coughs in between, he reached behind his head... and pulled the straps free that held the mask on his face.

"I am many things, Rat... but 'pretty' sure as hell ain't one of them."

Junkrat knew he was staring at the revealed face with wide eyes, but he couldn't help it. Just like the rest of his body, Roadhog's skin was darker than Junkrat's. The badly healed, light scars on his face contrasted heavily with his complexion and there was a burn mark on his left cheek, but that wasn't what fazed Junkrat.

"Holey moley... mate... you're old _as fuck_..!"

He had known that Roadhog was older than him, but his body barely revealed what his face made painfully clear. Junkrat couldn't even pin down what gave his age away. The wrinkles around his eyes when his lips twisted into a dry smirk like that or the fact that his heavy brows were as grey as his hair. Well, considering his grey hair now, maybe Junkrat could have guessed. In his defense, it could have just been the sun responsible for that. Or the fallout.

"And you're an ugly wanker. Wanna point out some more obvious things?" 

Usually, when Roadhog said things like that, at least he tried to sound like he meant it. This time, Junkrat could hear the teasing in his voice, and it made him break out in an almost hysteric giggle, releasing all the tension that had built up inside of him within the last minutes at once.

"Nah, 's fine!" Junkrat still stared at him, fascinated in an odd sort of way by the heavy-set jaw and the small, dark eyes. Curiously, Junkrat’s eyes followed the grey stubble on Roadhog's cheeks down to his chin... well, his chins, really... and Junkrat was wriggling with the effort to contain himself, before he blurted out: "So how old are ya, then?"

Roadhog seemed to consider just not answering that for a moment, returning to the task at hand.

"Fourty-eight" he said.

Junkrat let out a low whistle."Quite impressive, mate!"  
He actually sounded genuinely impressed. Maybe he was. Wasn't all that common for junkers to grow old - whether it was the hostile environment, sickness or just plain dumb decisions that got them, something always did. Roadhog knew that. Was probably what had made him agree to join Junkrat in the first place. Any guy who survived the loss of two limbs in Junkertown did not only prove survival instincts, but survival _skills_. Big, big difference. 

So far, when he wasn't behaving like he was about to splatter the remains of his brains on the asphalt, Junkrat had turned out to be incredibly clever and resourceful. Never wasted a thing - even the most useless pieces of trash he tore apart and used as shrapnel for his bombs. Not stupid at all.

Junkrat’s easy acceptance made Roadhog relax a bit despite the empty feeling it left behind whenever he took off the mask. Like he could maybe take it another few minutes before the anxiety closed in around him and he needed to put the barrier between him and the world back on. Was easier to paint his nails without the lenses blocking his view like this, too.

"...so, why are ya doin' it then?"

Roadhog just grunted out something like a laugh. "Started to do it so I wouldn't have to look at the dirt under my nails all day. Kinda grew into a habit" he explained. He didn't bother elaborating that it was something they used to do when he was younger, when they were out on the streets, protesting, or just blowing off steam at some music festival.

Junkrat made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat that somehow still managed to sound squeaky.

Actually quiet for once, he watched Roadhog paint his nails, one after the other, though occasionally his lips moved on their own accord, never making a sound though. That was a nice change for once.

Didn't last long until he nudged at Roadhog again, though.

"Can ya make mine too?"

Roadhog frowned at that request, but shrugged at last.

Since, apart from the involuntary twitching of his skinny body, the Rat was actually kind of focused now, Roadhog decided he could do that.  
He shifted his leg a bit so the skinny junker could place his flesh hand on his knee. It trembled a bit with the effort to keep still, but Hog made a quick job of it, every movement well-practiced. And with Rat, it only took half of the time anyway.

Junkrat cocked his head when he was finished, inspecting the way the black nails contrasted with his skin. It did effectively hide any dirt under his broken nails, but that wasn't all.

" _I_ think it's pretty!" he concluded, obviously pleased with how it had turned out and grinned proudly up at his bodyguard. "We're like a real team now!"

Roadhog snorted. Junkrat had hired him as a bodyguard, had promised him 50/50 from his treasure and all their spoils - as far as he had been concerned, that made them business associates. Nothing more. But he couldn't deny that despite Rat's annoying antics, they had fallen into a routine easy enough. Which in itself was surprising enough for a man who was as set in his ways as Hog.

Aside from that - he couldn't remember when he had last spent time just... talking to someone, mask off, while casually painting his nails. Without feeling like crawling out of his skin. He felt like he could just get used to it. 

"Guess we are, Boss."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you liked it, please drop a comment or come talk to me at my [tumblr](https://piggyofoz.tumblr.com/)! (NSFW version [here](https://piggyofoz-nsfw.tumblr.com/).)


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